When he got off he spotted Becky’s building at once. He counted the balconies. Good, she had left her lights on, an intelligent precaution. She would probably be furious at him for coming out alone like this, but it had to be done. If you’re going to take crazy risks, you take them alone.
He moved toward the alley where the creatures must have congregated. The snow had, of course, covered up all trace of them. They would be coming back here sooner or later, of that much he felt sure. But if their sense of smell was as good as Ferguson had implied they would know he was here long before they were even in sight. So what, let them move in on him. He hefted the M-11 a little in his pocket, then settled down behind a garbage bin to wait.
One o’clock. The wind moaned out of the north. Two o’clock. The snow blew in great waves past the streetlights. Three o’clock. Wilson flexed his toes, rubbed his nose hard, listened to his heartbeat. He began to fight sleep about three-fifteen. Taking his cheek between thumb and forefinger he pinched hard. The pain startled him into wakefulness.
Then it was quiet. The snow had stopped. Involuntarily he gasped—he had fallen asleep. What time—four-twenty. Damn, over an hour out. And across the street, through the alley, standing in the light, were six of the ugliest, most horrifying things he had ever seen. He didn’t move a muscle, just his eyes.
These things were big, big as timber wolves. Their coats were dusky brown, their heads perched on necks much longer than that of a wolf. They had large pointed ears, all cocked directly at this alley. He could practically feel them listening to him. Somewhere his mind began to scream, Fire the Goddamn pistol, fire the pistol! But he couldn’t move, he couldn’t take his eyes off those faces. The eyes were light gray, under jutting brows. And they were looking where the ears were pointing. The faces were… almost serene in their deadliness. And they had lips, strange sensitive lips. The faces were not even a little human but they were clearly intelligent. They were worse than the faces of tigers, more totally ruthless, more intractable.
Fire the pistol!
Slowly the pistol started coming out of his pocket. It seemed to take an hour for it to be raised, but at last the long barrel swung up and… without a sound they were gone.
Not a trace, not even the rustle of a foot in the snow. They had moved! Goddamn, he hadn’t counted on speed like that. Then he was running too—as fast as he could out of the alley and into the middle of the snowy street, running frantically, feeling like an old, old man as he wheezed along, running toward a lighted window, an all-night deli, and then through the door.
“Jesus, don’t scare me like that, man!”
“Sorry-sorry. I—I’m cold. You got coffee?”
“Yeah, comin’ up. You runnin’ your ass off out there. You in trouble, man?”
“Just trying to keep warm is all. Trying to keep warm.”
The counterman held out the coffee—and held on to it. “You got fifty cents, daddy? That’s fifty cents in advance.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Wilson paid him, took the hot coffee cup in his hands, moved it to his face, and sipped.
Great God I’m alive! I got that Goddamn gun out f-a-s-t! One second later and they would have had me, the s.o.b.’s! It was exhilarating—it might have felt slow but he had drawn that gun Goddamn fast. Fast enough to save himself from them and they were fast beyond imagining.
He sipped again, noticing how his hand trembled. That had to stop. Long ago he had learned how to overcome the special fear that came with the close proximity of death. Now he went through the routine, a system that had been taught to him by his first partner, back in the forties when he was a rookie cop. There was a man—shot dead by his oldest son in ‘52. Now wait a minute, Wilson thought, you’re digressing. You’re shocked. Come on now, policeman, snap out of it! Relax shoulders, let them fall. Let your gut hang out. Slack your lips. Breathe deeply… one… two… and think about nothing, just let it roll over you.
Now when he sipped the coffee he tasted it, and for the first time noticed that it was black and unsweetened.
“Hey, I said light, this coffee’s black.”
“You need it black, man. You don’t need no light coffee. You drink that, then I’ll give you a light.”
“Thank you, Doctor, but I’m not drunk.” The counterman laughed softly, then looked straight at Wilson. “I wouldn’t say you were. You scared. You the scaredest motherfucker I’ve seen in a good long while. Maybe that coffee’ll help you get it back together, man.”
“Well, it is back together, man. And I want a light coffee. I can’t drink this stuff.”
“Sure, you got money I’ll fix you a carbonated coffee if you want it. I don’t give a damn. But don’t say you can’t drink what you got.”
“Why the hell not! What are you, some kind of a nut? I said I wanted light. I can’t drink this junk.”
“Look in the cup, man.”
It was empty. He hadn’t even been aware of swallowing it! He shut up, returned to his thoughts, to how incredibly fast they had been. It was almost as if they had vanished; but he had glimpsed flashes of running bodies. Then it occurred to him that if they were that fast they would have gotten past his defenses before he had even realized they were there.
Why hadn’t they? For some unknown reason this particular gold shield had been allowed to live. The M-11 still felt good in his pocket but it had been no protection at all. None at all. It certainly hadn’t been the speed of his draw that had scared them away. Something, then… almost but not quite like a memory. He almost knew why they had run, then—he didn’t. “Shit.”
“You ready to go, mister?”
“No.”
“Well, you notice we ain’t got no chairs in here. This is a deli, not no coffee shop. You got to buy and go in a place like this, that’s the rules.”
“So what if I don’t go?”
“Nothin’. Just I feel like you got trouble all around you. You gonna bring it in here with you.”
Wilson debated whether to go back outside or to flash his shield. What the hell, outside probably wasn’t the healthiest place for him to be right now. Whatever had stopped them before might not again. So he flashed. “Police,” he said tonelessly, “I’m stayin’ put.”
“Sure enough.”
“There a back room, some place I can bunk out? I’m tired, I’ve just been in a bad spot.”
“I’d have to agree, judging from the way you look. We got a storeroom. It’s good, there’s plenty of place to lie, and it’s pretty warm. I get a little back there now and then myself.” He showed Wilson into a low-ceilinged room, obviously a shed attached to the rear of the old brownstone building that housed the deli. There was one window, barred, and a triple-locked door. Very good, very cozy, very safe until the morning brought crowds back to the street and he could safely go out. As he settled back he reviewed his strange, terrifying failure. Obviously they were way, way ahead of him—fast, smart, in complete control of the situation. There was only one reason that he wasn’t dead right now—they wanted him alive a little longer.
When he closed his eyes he saw them, their steady, eager eyes, the cruel beauty of their faces… and he remembered the moose and the wolves. What did the spent old moose feel for the ravening timber wolf—was it love, or fear so great that it mimicked love?
When they realized who was concealed in the alley they were full of glee. He had come to protect the female, just as the father had said he would. The father knew man very well and could detect nuances of scent that the younger ones could scarcely imagine. And Father had detected the fact that the man who had seen them loved his female coworker. Father had said, we can move against them both at the same time because the male will try to protect the female. And Father had selected the place and time: where the female was most defenseless, when she was most vulnerable.